You can't put all your eggs into a basket that has a hole in it.



Stop putting them in there. They're just going to fall out.



You can keep your eggs in the refrigerator or something.



Wait for the hole to go away. Wait for it to patch itself up.
Do your best to help, and if you're only slowing down that repair, then back off noob.



Don't go putting your eggs in another basket. That's stupid. The eggs are fine in the refrigerator.
Don't get all crazy and be movin' shit around. Stick with your basket.



Just don't wait too long. A lot of people don't know that eggs expire.



That's right, they go bad. Sometimes they're okay a few days after they say.



But they will always go bad. So be careful. Make your choice.



There are a lot of pretty baskets out there. Everywhere you go.
But one is always head and shoulders above the rest.



If you're a fan of that basket, then stick around!



A true fan doesn't always root for the winning team.



A true fan will always pick the same team though.



Loyalty. Stick by your basket.



Faith: Believe in your basket.



Trust: Be loyal and faithful to your basket, and your basket will return your loyalty and your faith.



Love:

I'm bringing Xanga back - drop a comment if you're with me!

So!

I saw PotC today!

It was alrightt! Longg!

In the time I spent waiting to get into the movie, arrived at 1:00, the 1:15 was sold out, bought a 2:40, you do the math, I was baby-sitting, quite literally, three young boys. I took one boy into the concessions line to buy drinks for his pregnant mother, and the other two boys, one his brother, and one his cousin, decided to tag along. Their accumulated age does not add up to my own. Well, upon waiting in line, the three obviously, at their age, got rather rowdy and I had to corral them into order! Making bargains on candy and food and making promises and deals I knew impossible for them to keep.

A white woman, blonde hair, tad on the overweight side, spilled her drink next to me and was waiting for her free refill. She had overheard and seen my handling of the children and proceeded to offer me some coupons for Bunch-A-Crunch that would allow me to purchase them for one-dollar a piece. With the kids there, of course, I gladly accepted. We chit-chatted a bit and eventually she started saying how the kids were so adorable and things like that and when two of the childrens' father came around, she commented she was glad there was more adult supervision over the kids. I had to agree because what she said was true. I could not handle the three of them in a quiet theater, packed to the brim, with the lights dimmed and action on screen. She then commented that I was doing a wonderful job with them and I pointed out their mother and she said, "Congratulations!", in obviously, a congratulatory manner. Why? Why? Congratulate me, when I am not their father, or the man who impregnated their mother? Ah. Confusion, it seems.

I, Anthony Ngo, to that woman, is a father of three, with one on the way. Amazing! Either I look like a pimp, who screwed up four too many times, or I handled them maturely enough to fool a mother unwillingly into thinking I am a good father.

HA!

RIGHT!

I <3 Kids. Who doesn't? (I know of many actually, all women, strange.) But I don't think I look like a father.

How crazy.

Crazy, crazy, crazy.